


Intransigent

by distantfridays



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Heterosexuality was never an option, Homosexuality, M/M, Post-Apocalyptic, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-11
Updated: 2011-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantfridays/pseuds/distantfridays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He probably shouldn’t have rescued the man from customs, especially knowing that he was from Outside. But he just couldn’t help himself, and now Charles has a wanted fugitive on his hands that might just be the key to saving the world. Post-Apocalypse AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings (Or: Rescuing Strangers Who Find You Attractive)

**2127 A.D., late September**

Charles Francis Xavier, mutant telepath, 27 years of age, American citizen. Privileged beyond imagination due to the circumstances of his birth, and almost entirely undeserving of it.

At least, that was the popular opinion in Oxford. Not that Charles particularly cared what they thought. He was leaving; he’d never see their sorry faces again.

“Tea, Mr. Xavier?” A maid – a clone? – offered him a tray, laden with tea and biscuits. He shook his head, turning to look out the train window.  
In thirteen hours, he would be in America. Out of what was left of the crumbling, post-apocalyptic world and into the land of the future. There was no disease in America, no radiation or Outsiders. America was clean and sterile and ridiculously technologically advanced. America was _safe_ , the way nowhere else on Earth could ever be again.

“We’ll be arriving at the boarding station within ten minutes, Mr. Xavier. Would you like to remain awake for the flight, or you would prefer to sleep?” The clone-maid had returned, bearing a tray of hypodermic needles.

Given the choice between 13 hours of boredom with jetlag and just waking up in America, the choice for a wellborn American mutant was painfully, obviously clear.

He took the injection, the needle pressing under his skin.

 

And woke up, gasping, as the shuttle loitered outside of Ellis Island. The man in the bunk across from him was suffering similarly, clutching at the bedrailing with surprise.

 _Damn drugs._ He chuckled at the man’s thought, and then busied himself with righting his suit to cover for it. It was impolite to use one’s gift in the presence of humans without their knowledge.

“Welcome to the United States of America, Mr. Xavier. We’ll be going through customs in approximately one hour. Do you require immigration forms?” The same maid (or a clone of her) offered him a datapad.

“Yes. Thank you.” Being kind to clones wasn’t really required, but it tended to look good. He smiled blankly at her, taking the pad and giving her a gentle mental push to leave.

Clones unsettled him.

 

He filled out the required information, eyeing the man next to him curiously. He hadn’t taken an immigration datapad from the clone.

 _can’t get caught act normal don’t look at him beautiful eyes some sort of rich American focus focus look natural don’t get caught falsified passport._

The man next to him thought that he had beautiful eyes. Momentarily, Charles was filled with some sort of flummoxed flattery.

And then he frowned. _Falsified passport?_ No one could falsify a passport, not even with the tools originally used to create them. The genetic coding in them was impossible to replicate or duplicated, insuring all passports were unique and completely genuine. Not even with the nanotechnology that they used to manufacture them would be able to falsify them.

The drugs must still be messing with his head.

 

“If you’ll accompany me to the front of the shuttle, Mr. Xavier, we can proceed to the customs office. Mr. Smith, you may proceed to the lower floors to await processing.” The clone had returned, the same empty smile in place.

 _Fucking second-gens._ The man, Mr. Smith (as if that were his real name) didn’t seem to like the clone much, either. Curious. Most other people (those without telepathic ability, at least) didn’t mind them as much because they couldn’t sense how _different_ they were.

“Of course.” The man had a faint accent- German? – for a split-second, and then it was gone.

Germany was not part of the Toronto Pact. Germans weren’t allowed to leave the mainland of Europe and Asia. Only the United Kingdom, Italy, and Spain were cleared countries of origin for travel to the United States.

This man (who thought he had _beautiful eyes_ ) was an Outsider. Foreign, diseased, not cleared to travel. Much less enter the United States.  
But he didn’t _look_ sickened with disease. Or particularly dangerous, or grossly radioactive. Just tired.

And exceptionally handsome.

Too bad, then, that he would be caught and removed. Probably exterminated. But he’d had to have known that his ploy to get in (however well-thought-out) wasn’t going to work.

“I think Mr. Smith would like to accompany me through customs. I find his company enlightening.” He gave the man a genial smile, and gave the clone (blank mind, all pre-programmed commands to be followed, no intelligence of its own) a mental shove.

“If that is what you wish, Mr. Xavier. Please, come with me.” The clone smiled at him again, trotting amicably towards the exit.  
The man (he wanted his real name, it was probably grossly outlandish and strange) stared at him, and Charles gave him a wry grin. “It’s a mess in the lower levels. Faster up here.” He offered, and the man shrugged.

 _suspicion does he know he can’t maybe just trying to help beautiful eyes hair like some Roman painting English weak easily overpowered soft doesn’t know, can’t know._ The man’s thoughts were like lightning, half-formed and full of suspicion and fear.

He was _intoxicating_. None of the other minds he had felt- mutant, human clone – were as sharp as his.

“Welcome to the United States, Mr. Xavier. We’ll scan your passport and release you into New York City momentarily. Mr. Smith, you may accompany Mr. Xavier to customs. Have a nice day and a wonderful stay in the City.” The clone droned, gesturing them towards the exit dock. “Watch your step.”

“I think, Mr. Smith, that you should probably tell me your real name before I help smuggle you into the United States. It’s a felony, you know.” Charles commented once they were alone, and abruptly found himself pinned to the ground by his wristwatch.

“How did you know.” It wasn’t so much a question as a gasp of pain. The man was standing over him, hand outstretched as if to claw him.

But not touching him.

 _Mutant._

 _it’s easy for our kind to recognize one another._ He writhed against the hold of the watch, twisting to glare up at him.

“You’re…”

“A mutant. Yes. You honestly thought you were alone?” The whole room – every metal fixture – was vibrating.

Metal. This man could manipulate and control _metal_.

Fascinating. Nothing like the lame, controlled powers of his peers. Growing flowers, speaking languages, breathing underwater. Nothing nearly as violent or feral as this.

It was almost better than his own gift.

 _suspicion one of use sees into minds suspicion can’t trust knows._ The man relented, and Charles fought to sit up.

“Yes, I can see into your mind. Control it, manipulate it. Change it. But not against another… I’ve never met someone quite like you, you know. Potent powers aren’t common. Not among… Well.” He was babbling, grinning as he slowly got to his feet.

“You can manipulate my mind?” And, yet again, Charles was on the floor. This time with a metal band across his throat, restricting his airflow.  
 _out out out i can sense you get OUT._ Charles retreated hastily, wincing at the barrage. No one had ever felt him before, let alone… Resisted.

“Not against you. I’ve already said.” He choked, and the band slowly dropped.

“You said you’d help me. Why?” The man offered him a hand up, which Charles took eagerly.

“Perhaps because I’ve never met a German before. Or someone who can control metal.” Charles straightened his suit, chuckling. “Or maybe it’s because no one else I know has ever said that I have beautiful eyes.” He winked, and flounced towards the exit.

“Erik. My name is Erik Lensherr.” Charles nodded, pausing at the door.

“Well, Mr. Lensherr, we’d best get through customs. I’m terribly hungry, see. And I think you’ll provide excellent lunch conversation.” And then he was gone, leaving the door open behind him.

The man – Erik – stared after him, lips twitching with the hint of a smile.


	2. Foolishness (Or: Doing Things Without Planning Ahead)

**2127 A.D., late September**

 

Charles didn’t know what he was going to do. Yes, he could control the minds of the customs officers. He could fool them into thinking that Erik was an American citizen. He could even modify their memories permanently, if he had to.  
But he couldn’t fool the machines. They’d either detect Erik’s fake passport or his lack of one, and then they’d _both_ be going to prison (or to their executions).

Charles really, _really_ , didn’t want to go to prison (or die).

He’d think of something.

Hopefully.

“So how are you going to get me past the scanners?” Erik was processing nearly the same thoughts as him, anxiety building into dark fear. _going to fail going to die and he’s going to be coming with me wasn’t supposed to happen like this._

“They’re made of metal, aren’t they? The wiring, at least? It would be unfortunate if they were to malfunction and the humans had to check our passports themselves.” It would at least buy them some time.

Erik nodded, stepping closer to his side. _apprehension can do this easy just twist the wires, break them break them._ “You know I can feel you in my mind?” The question was wry, and Charles sighed.

“You’re very nearly screaming, you know. Calm your mind. I need to focus for this.” He shot back, his hand drifting to his temple.

 _Three._ Only three border guards at this level, and one clone to operate the scanners. Not nearly as many as he’d been expecting, but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

 _there are three guards. say nothing. disable the scanners a moment before i myself go through them._ He dropped his hand from his temple, striding forward purposefully.

Erik nodded, letting him take the lead.

Well, at least he wouldn’t be fighting this man in some sort of dominance battle. He’d probably lose.

“Can we do this quickly, gentlemen? My companion and I have a lunch date, and it would be a shame if we were to be detained for long. The shuttle ride from London to America is rather long and tedious.”

The leader of the three guards gave him a blank look, gaze flickering to Erik but not lingering.

“The names you’ll look up are Charles Xavier and Eric Lensherr. Lensherr will not be on record, and you will add him. No questions.” He continued, fingers ghosting over his temple as he reached into the minds of the guards and the clone.

 _do as i say._

He could feel Erik’s surprise, and smirked. _i told you i could do this, didn’t i?_

The guard nodded dumbly, lifting his datapad and typing urgently. The other two busied themselves with checking through Charles’s luggage, which had been sent ahead of time.

“Nothing out of place here. You are both cleared to enter the United States.” The guard handed over his bag, eyes glassy. “You are free to proceed through the scanner.”

Charles nodded, turning towards Erik with a slight smile. “Coming, my friend?”   
Erik didn’t have any bags. That simple observation had Charles in a brief state of horror.

Oh, God, what was he _doing_?

Sneaking a criminal, an Outsider, into civilized society. He was probably carrying a plethora of diseases. Hell, he could be a walking biological weapon. And, if they got caught, Charles would never see the lights of New York City (or the civilized world, they sent all the really bad criminals to _Russia_ ) again.

And they were going to get caught because no matter how confident Charles was, they couldn’t pull this off because it was too _easy_ , and he was going to be going to prison for _forever_ for a stranger (a handsome stranger, but still a stranger and since when had his life become so much like an action-romance novel?).

But he was doing this. He _had_ to do this. Erik had talent beyond anything he’d ever seen in his lifetime, and he couldn’t just let him be boxed up and tossed in some lightless pit somewhere just because he wanted something better than being an Outsider.

He’d set one foot through the biometric scanner when it gave a weak hiss and stopped moving halfway up his body.

“Oh, dear. I’m afraid you’ll have to scan us manually, won’t you?” He stepped back, giving the scanner, and then Erik, a wide grin.

The guards seemed to be in some state of shock. Charles lifted his hand to his temple again, still smiling.

“I believe that what you’re going to do is explain to your superiors that, while scanning myself and a companion you don’t quite remember, the machine broke and you were forced to manually scan us. You found us both to be in possession of valid passports and allowed us to pass.” _do this. and then forget._

The guards nodded.

 

“So, what brings you to New York?” Charles had decided on a small, old-style café outside the city; one where they could talk and be confident that they wouldn’t be overheard. The only people inside, besides themselves, were two women sitting across the dining area, the chef, and the hostess.

Erik didn’t answer, too busy shoveling massive amounts of fries and the monstrosity of a burger (some triple-layer thing with entirely too much beef and cheese to really be healthy) into his mouth. Really, giving the man a second look, it was painfully obvious that he was starving. He was ridiculously skinny under his navy turtleneck.

Not to say that Charles was overweight, but he _was_ self-conscious. Hence the (rather bland) salad he’d ordered instead of some fried mess.

After a moment, the man set down his burger and swallowed so he could answer. “Isn’t America ‘the land of opportunity’?” The words were sarcastic, almost harsh. Erik’s mind was furious with cloud of shock (from earlier, no doubt, when they passed him through customs without a backwards glance), suspicion towards him, and fear. And, surprisingly, anger.

“It was.” Charles eyed his salad with distaste. “Not anymore. You know that.” The new totalitarian government had eliminated any sort of “land of opportunity”. You were born into wealth, or you were poor. Middle class was a joke; social classes were a joke. There were humans and mutants, and those fortunate enough to be born into a life where they didn’t have to work (or were unfortunate enough to be born into a life of near-slavery).

Such was America. And the United Kingdom. And anywhere else that wasn’t rendered barren, inhospitable, or diseased by nuclear winter and radioactivity.

“You would have been caught at the border.” Charles informed him, setting aside his fork. “What on Earth were you going to do? Fight your way in?”

He wouldn’t have gotten far.

Erik didn’t answer, returning to his fries with savage ferocity.

“Tell me. I helped you get in. I need to know _why_ you wanted in.” _how come you’re not the diseased monstrosity that they tell us are all that’s left of the Outside? are they all as powerful as you, out there? how did you get to London without being caught?_

“Why don’t you just rip it from my mind? You had no trouble with the guards.”

“I told you. I’m not going to, not from… From my own kind, at least.” He snorted, glancing out at the other patrons.

“We’re supposed to help each other. Mutants, I mean. Stick together.”

“I don’t trust you.” The statement was bland, flat. _suspicion “our kind” doesn’t matter not anymore suspicion he’s like a child unaware doesn’t know anything._

“So teach me. Tell me. I want to know.” _they tell us that the people from the Outside really aren’t people anymore. why would they lie?_

Charles had always been hungry for knowledge; it was why he’d gone to Oxford. And why he’d left. Why would the government lie (why _wouldn’t_ the government lie) about the Outside? Why would they waste time building walls and Facilities and the Toronto Pact if the world wasn’t, in fact, filled with radioactive monsters that would destroy civilization if given the chance?

 _he really doesn’t know._ The realization in Erik’s mind was bright, full of derision and something almost like hope.

Erik turned away from him, glaring out at the (impressive, brilliantly lit and not grey like London, full of color and digital enhancement) skyline with something akin to distaste. “Wouldn’t you rather stay clueless, just like the rest of your protected, blind city? Safe from the monsters and the radioactivity and the winters and the disease?”

 _anger fury terrible look at this waste all these advances and they’re all living a lie. not his fault doesn’t know wouldn’t ever know._

“No.”

 

It’s not the first time Erik has told someone the story, and most certainly won’t be the last. At least, as far as Charles is concerned.

“So there’s… Towns out there? Cities?” He gestured vaguely, enraptured. He didn’t sense any sort of lie in Erik’s mind, just truth and bitter, terrible sorrow.

“Ruins. There aren’t many people left to build. But yes. It’s not all disease and nuclear waste. Just most of it.” It doesn’t make sense, doesn’t add up. There was supposed to be _nothing_ left. There were over a hundred years of facts, of recorded history, that stated otherwise.

“And the Toronto Pact?”

“You really think that the United Kingdom, Spain, Italy, Russia, Canada, and South Africa would sign over all their rights to America if there wasn’t some sort of persuasion? What do you think caused the radioactivity, some freak accident?”

“India and Pakistan, in 2021. Nuclear war. North Korea and Japan, in 2026. And then the winters.” It was all recorded, every missile launched and casualty and military loss. “Something had to be done to stop them. There was a conference in Toronto, and it was decided that it was best if America, with all the resources and technology, took control of what was left. Signed in 2027, ratified in every involved government by 2028.” The dates were impossible to forget, impressed upon him in every history class, every literature and genetics lecture. The start of the modern era began with the destruction of the old.

It was how evolution worked, how the next step of human genetics had begun.

“And the mutants?” Erik looked faintly ill. He’d finished his burger half an hour ago, and his third slice of chocolate pie some moments ago.

Charles vaguely hoped he wouldn’t vomit.

“Genetics. Humans couldn’t survive the winters. We evolved, took control where humans were too weak to. Society changed. It was for the best.” Every philosophy class, every psychology class, told them so. Mutants made better leaders than humans. Mutants were stronger. Mutants were better.

Humans were second-class citizens. Not yet evolved, but would be eventually. Pupae in wait to grow their wings.

“Genetic experimenting gone wrong. Biological warfare. A disease that changed and altered even the people in power.” Erik countered, elbows balanced on the table as he leaned towards him. “Freaks. But more powerful than humans. You really don’t think that the humans gave up without a fight?”

“There were a few revolutionary groups. They were dealt with.” Nothing major; it was nature, taking its course. It would be ridiculous to resist what was meant to be.

“They were _slaughtered_ , you mean. Whole nations. Australia, Mongolia. Brazil.”

“It was necessary. Plague. They had to be sterilized.” And they weren’t the only nations; China, The Democratic Republic of the Congo, and Saudi Arabia had been eliminated similarly. Too much disease, too few healthy people. A calculated loss of life. “They couldn’t be saved. The winters took the rest.”

“Even South Africa? They were part of the Pact.” _explain that away, Charles._

“So was Russia. Disease doesn’t know borders.” _i don’t need to. The facts don’t lie. history can’t lie._ Charles shook his head, glancing towards the hostess. She nodded.

“And nor does revolution.” Charles stood, reclaiming his coat with a sigh. _except when they do. amusement disbelief how can he be so arrogant brainwashed leaving?_

“Will you accompany me back to my home? I gather that you don’t have anywhere in particular to stay.” The hostess scanned his wrist, where his identification chip was located. “And I have a friend who can assist you with your inconvenient lack of identification.” Everyone had an identification chip. It linked them to their social security, the intranet, their bank funds, and countless other parts of the digital world.

 _suspicion knows someone who forges identities? why suspicion turn me in betrayal suspicion worked too hard to get me in to turn me in relenting_. “Why do you know someone who forges identification chips?”

“Oh, I don’t. But Hank’s got a thing for technology. I think you’ll like him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of history in this chapter! So, important facts:
> 
> -> The Toronto Pact: Established 2028; included the nations Russia, United States, United Kingdom, South Africa, Spain, Italy, and Canada. Established American control of listed nations.
> 
> -> Nuclear war between India & Pakistan, North Korea & Japan: All nations are assumed to be destroyed by nuclear war.
> 
> -> Sterilization of Australia, Russia, China, The Democratic Republic of the Congo, South Africa, Mongolia, and Brazil: Disease (plague, pathogen unspecified) rendered the nations and citizens unsalvageable. Destroyed with use of hydrogen bombs.
> 
> -> Identification chips: required by the government; connects to intranet (restricted internet for civilians), bank accounts, social securities, workplacement (if applicable), and technological devices such as vehicles and datapads.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. So this is the start of an epically long post-apocalyptic AU that I will be doing off-and-on. Unbeta'd, but so's most of the things that I write.


End file.
